"■"J* 



\ 



1901 



Fagots of Cedar 






IVAN SWIFT 







Class _Eil_3_&T. 
GopyrightN 1° 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



FAGOT S OF CEDAR 

Out of the North & 
Blown by the Winds 



With Photographs and Original Drawings oj 
Michigan Landscape 



5; IVAN SWIFT 



Designed and Printed by the Author, A. D. 1907 
at The TO-MORROW PRESS, and 
Issued from their S h o p in Hyde Park, Chicago. 



jUBAARYof C^ 

H Two Copies RWfllved 

DEC 24 (307 

Cotiyneiii tiitrj 

\/\ftnf II '1°7 
OLASS 4 XXc, MO. 

143 78^ 

COPY B. 



VVU ? 3 



Copyright igoj 
by Ivan Swift 



Inscribed to my Mother and Dedicated 
to her Cause of Service to the Humble. 



For the privilege of printing these verses 
in book-form acknowledgement is due The 
Independent, Appleton's, Sunset, Recre- 
ation, Outers' Book, Field and Stream, 
American Lumberman, To-Morrow and 
Chicago American, in which, together, most 
of the titles originally appeared. 



CONTENTS 

In Michigan 

Home 

Song of the Cedar-maker 

Stage of the Woods 

The Old Courier-de-Bois 

The Hunted Ones 

The Timber-Wolves 

Gods of the Ki-jilc-on 

The Plaint of the Brook-trout 

The Pleasure of the Hour 

The Woodman to the River 

Sprite of the Po-tog-on-og 

Seal of the North ' 

To a Grosbeak in the Garden 

The Humming-bird 

Autumn 

The Coprid Beetle 

Call of the Winds 

Liberty Bell 

Japan the Beautiful 

The Dragon City 

The Pilgrim 

After the Troublous Winds 



Illustrated 



This Book has been designed, hand-set and 
illustrated by the A u t h o r, and the press- 
work done by John Hamilton, from Vickers- 
town, Ireland. The Edition is limited to 
Two Hundred copies, of which (his one 
is Number i i- A 



\ 

1 u Q > * 




Out of the North 




In Michigan 



IN MICHIGAN 

SLOW-TIELDING Nymphs 
Evade umpandered Satyrs here, 
And sands unconquered laugh at man's in- 
vention; 
Bright clouds drive darker shadows, 
And the bay-breeze biars heavy odors — 
Odor-offerings of ragged pine 
And spruce. 

The white-birch single on the hillside, 
The hemlocks and I 
Are friends 
In Michigan. 

Nature 's fingers 

Seem to play upon my strings 

In minor harmonies up here — 

Where shells of convents shelter 

Echoes only, 

And the last Indian has laid 

His flints and legends 

On the grave-mound of the older time 

In Michigan. 



HOME 



I 



N the evening after the rain, 

At home with the North and the trees, 
I turn from the world again 

And find me a world in these. 

I searched for a joy in the lands 

Of castle and kopje and sun, 
And found what I sought — in the sands 

Where the journey was lightly begun. 

The glories of continents seen 
And all that my ears have heard, 

Are lost in a garden's green 
And the chirp of a nested bird. 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 10 



SONG OF THE CEDAR-MAKER 

DEEP is the wall of the cedar, 
And tough is the take of the Jack; 
But a man with a girl must feed her, 
And the fire must burn in the shack. 
Ax, spud, saw, steel ! 
Trim, mark, cut, peel! 

We tackled the world and shook her — 
A wench with an eye for hate ; 

We winked at the woods — and took her, 
For better and bunk and plate. 

CHO. 

Man is a thing for labor, 

Or what 's the game of the trees ? 
The saw is as good as the saber — 

And tallies are made with these. 

CHO. 

Our talk ain't the regular Latin — 
But we cut to the cedar's core ! 

Our manner '11 stand some battin' — 
But we pay for our beans and more ! 

CHO. 

Tough is the take of the cedar, 
And rough is the lift of the Jack ; 

But a man with a wife must feed her, 
And the kettle must boil in the shack. 

CHO. 

OUT of the NORTH 77 



Continued 

To hell with the church and the nation ! 

We work — and the scale is right; 
Sweat be our souls' salvation, 
And freedom is Saturday Night ! 

Whack, crack, chip, strip ! 
Zim, zow, zip, zip t 
Ax, spud, saw, steel ■' 
Chop! mark! cut! peel! 



STAGE OF THE WOODS 

THE glow of the moon's low rim 

Creeps up through the trees to the sky ; 
And the night is a deep, sweet hymn 
To the lone doe sauntering by. 

A frail, lithe shape at the spring — 
A quick, strange flash in the night ! 
A leap and a keen, hot sting ! 
And Death walks weird in the light. 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 12 



4M| 

ft 1 

\ 


s " 


1" 

— « 


n 

i 

* 







<l ,4 man wrtft a g/rZ musf fe<?d her." 



THE OLD COURIER-DE-BOIS 

A COMMON man was Pere Gilbault," 
So will the townsmen say, 
"A sodden leaf left by the snow 
Upon the summer way ; — 

"A relic of the older time, 
He crooned of moldy years, 

Unknown to fame of cood or crime — » 
And sleeps unmourned of tears." 

And this the tribute of the world 
To labor's humbler men — 

<l A thing the jesting winds have whirled 
On earth and off again !" 

What tho he spread the dauntless sail, 
And quit the shame of kings — 

To break the rugged forest-trail 
And dwell with silent things? 

What tho he turned the blades to hoes, 
And tamed the savage breeds ? — 

We hold their homes ! No bugle blows 
A woodman's homely deeds. 

He made a garden, sowed a seed — 
But we have plucked the flower ! 

He laid the faith, we made the creed — 
What boots his lingering hour? 



OUT of the NORTH /j 



Continued 

No mausoleum marks his grave, 

No will divides his gold ; 
No pension sooths a whimpering slave, 

His office none will hold. 

His tomb is but the earth he trod, 
His wealth — the poet's heart ; 

His gift — a love for man and God, 
His post — the honest part. 

A common Man was Pere Gilbault, 
And so the world must say — 

"A sodden leaf left by the snow, 
Upon the summer way! " 



THE HUNTED ONES 

THE habit of all of your mothers 
Was flight from a stronger race ; — 
Who knows but the zeal of our brothers 
Is zest to your joy of the chase? 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 14 



THE TIMBER WOLVES 

WE are the wolves of the timber-land — 
Me and the Black and the Bay ! 
We work by theday for a pittance of pay, 
Pork for the man and the horses' hay ! 
"Slaves," you say, 
"Of the skid and the sleigh !" 
It's the echoed word 
Of the world you've heard; 
For the nags and me 
Are the wind and the tree, 
And none so free ! — 
We're czars of the lumberin' band! 

We sound for the sun his reveille — 
With the clank of the loggin'-chain, 
And the bitin' pain of the frost disdain ! 
We warm to the work and won't complain. 
Chuck your Floridy flowers ! 
Michigan woods for ours ! 
Hills of snow and a hammerin' bell ! 
Four thousan' scale as hard as hell ! 
Get up, Jack ! Together, Nell ! 

Break your tugs ! 

Shake your lugs ! 

Your frozen steam 

Is a Cuban dream, 
When you sleep in the straw with me ! 



OUT of the NORTH 15 



Continued 

The slaves are rollin' the logs of towns t 
Give 'em the card they've drawn ! 
The blood and brawn, and the liquor- 

o'-dawn 
Are enough for us — we're up and gone E 
A ten-league run 
Is a race with the sun ! 
The horses' keep, 
And a cave for sleep, — 
(Better a bear than a shiverin* sheep), 
Meat and bread 
And a blanket-bed — 
And the prayers for more we leave to 

clowns ! 

To the hags o' storm ray song is hurled ! 

My poem 's the creak of the hick'ry rack! 

The lash's crack, in the woods rung back, 

Is a fire in the veins o' the Bay and Black ! 

How they dance, 

And heave and prance ! 

Oh, wild and free, 

We 're comrades three, 

Born of wind and wave ! 

Little to lose or save — 

What of the grave ? 

The boss of Care is the king of the world! 



FAGOTS of CEDAR /6 




Camp Ki-jik. 



THE GODS OF THE KI-JIK-ON 

THE cedar is thick on the Ki-jik-on, 
And a goose is the queen of the sky ; 
But the king of the swamp is a Buster John, 
And the getleman named is I. 
The same to say I handle the rein 
Of the huskies, Rock and Rob, 
And make the law to the timber's pain; — 
A king is a man with a job ! 

Haw, Rob! Hy, Rock! 

Mush, Brush ! Duck your block ! 

We snakes the sticks from dawn to night, 

And times it's under the Bear; 

It 's a bunk for bed and a badger's fight, — 

They 's hides is made for wear. 

We can't get far and we don't see much 

But a hole to the top of the sky ; 

They 's muck enough for a grave o' such — 

And we go some, ever we die ! 

Hy, Rock! Gee, Rob! 

Hump ! Jump ! Chew your cob! 



PRONOUNCED Kee-zheek-ox 



OUT of the NORTH 17 



Continued 

They's many a stick in the "Border of Hell," 

And thank ye to leave us stay — 

For I am the king and the king is well, 

And the same for the Black and Bay. 

The dam o' the nags has run in the clouds, 

Their sire in the wind o' the sea; 

And here is a laugh to the juniper shrouds, 

And luck to the pluckiest three ! 

Whoa, boys ! Haw about! 
Back track 1 The hooter 's out. 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 18 



PLAINT OFTHE BROOK-TROUT 



I 



N the unfollowed rivers of Dawn — 
Of the hundreds of ages ago — 

A motherhood mothered the spawn 
And gave us of freedom to grow. 

We lay on the golden bars 

And laughed at the witless fly ; 

We looked on the sun and the stars, 
And they came to us out of the sky. 

We drank of the spears of the rain 

And wheeled in the storm-dog's ring: 

We knew of no peril or pain, 

Nor feared we a wandering thing. 

The Maker of water and land 

Stood watch of our joy of the pool ; — 
But we fell to the rod and the hand, 

And our faith was the faith of the foo! ! ■ 

Barbed were the wings of the flies, 
And meshes were laid to deceive; 

The manners of man were lies 
That fish could never believe. 

He came as a nature-priest, 

With book — and with hook and gun ; 
But the lover of beauty was least, 

And the slaughter of fish was fun ! 



OUT of the NORTH ig 



Con tinued 

He cast our children ashore 

For the greed of the bittern's beak ; 
And he caught to his need and more — 

Pursuing from creek to creek. 

And thus were we led and decoyed, 
In shallow and pool and bar; 

And thus was our faith destroyed 
In mortal and sun and star! 

We cherish our gift of life, 

And keep from the reach of men 

Till wiser in ways of strife — 
But man will be wiser then ! 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 20 




"The r-r-runnino of the line" 



THE PLEASURE OF THE HOUR 

HEN a curtain in the sky, 
With the sun a-seepir.g through, 
Is a- taunting me to try 
What a fisherman can do — 
Would you have me stay at home, 
Reading poems in a tome, 
While I water at the mouth and live a lie? 

For the ringing of the reel 
And the rythm of the line 
Is the filling of the creel 
With the pleasure of the hour when we dine ! 

I have a tender feeling for the fish, 

And I 've got to be forgiven for a lot ; 
But I love 'em all to pieces — in the dish, 
And my feeling 's sort o' special when 
they 're hot. 
Oh, the very best of wishes 
For the sorry little fishes, 
And a hoping they '11 be happy in the pot ! 

For the r-r-rattle of the reel 
And the r-r-running of the line 
Is the filling of the creel 
With the pleasure of the hour when we dine ! 



OUT of the NORTH 21 



SEAL OF THE NORTH 



A 



Gl'.S ago when the Dawn first lifted, 

Audrey, you lay in the far lake-land — 
Under the pines where the sands were 
sifted, 
And touched my untouched hand. 

Your hair was there as the beach-grass blow- 
ing ; 
Your eyes — and the sea-wet stones were 

those ; 
Your flesh was one with the soft surf flow- 
ing, 
Your blush with the frail wild-rose. 

Your blood was drained from the North- 
sun's setting, 
Your grace from the vigin-white birch- 
tree ; — 
You breathe with the pure, cool breeze be- 
getting 
The Spring's sweet ecstasy. 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 24 



5.-. | 1 R 





'Through many a truant hour." 



TO a GROSBEAK in the GARDEN 

WHEN, through the heaviness and 
clamoring throng 
Of mortal ways, I hear the mellow song 
Of birds — the birds seem sent to me. 
If this be my insanity, 
As men will measure it — so let it be ! 

When shadows that no will can drive away 
Entomb me — then no sermon blesseth day, 
More true and sweet than that pure note 
My ear hath caught afloat 
From out the garden grosbeak's fervent 
throat. 

Thou, crimson caped messenger of God, 
Seem'st not to feel the thorned and bitter rod 
Of Life — thy hours are joyously beguiled 
With melodies so wild ! 
In sooth, thy creed is trusting as a child ! 

Full knowing that thy living days are brief, 
Thou grudgest even an hour for sober grief; 
Thy poems are scattered free, without a name, 
Nor hast thou thought of fame ! 
Is my unpaid aspiring yet my blame? 

The world is wide 'twixt man and worlds 
divine, 



OUT of the NORTH 25 



And hearts are dull to such a song as thine; 
But / have heard. Sing on, from tree to tree, 
As thou hast sung to me, — 
And more shall find the God that guideth 
thee! 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 26 



THE HUMMING-BIRD 

WHEN Summer sobs her languor to 
the Sky, 
And restive spirits vex the ways of 
men 
In vain emprise; within my garden then 
Will I eledt to let the world go by, 
And watch the humming-bird. Not seen to 

fly> 

He comes, and vanishes, and comes again 
And sips the sweets of honeysuckles when 
Their lips are frail — but leaves them not to 
die. 

So I have thought how good it were to be 
This ruthful corsair, bent on such pursuit, 
Against the wear of my fore-planning 
hours ; — 
How good it were to live thus liegelessly 
Upon the world's unreckoned blossom- 
loot — 
Yet spare from any harm its guarded 
flowers ! 



OUT of the NORTH 27 



AUTUMN 

BURDEN banked with many an au- 
tumn flower, 
The hills of aster, golden-rod and tyme 
Exhale the spell of some old Persian 
rhyme 
Revealed from parchments of the ages' 

dower. 
The purple mists enshroud the solemn hour, 
The throats of Nature hum a requiem 

chime ; 
The pageant pauses with the dirge sub- 
lime, 
And Life is laid beneath the burning bower. 

When Autumn flaunts her symbols of the 

dead, 

And darkness trespasses on hours of 

light ; 

When frosts foray with banners gold and red, 

And all the future dawns are robed of 

night — 
Then quits my soul her habit's clamor- 
ing flight 
And turns to make her peace and funeral 
bed! 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 28 



Blown by the Winds 



THE sun sets cold on Weicamp Lake, 
And the Fall, with her frost-wet mouth. 

Summons the drake from his home in the brake - 
And the wings of the flock cleave south. 

The warmth is fled from the bare, brown hills, 
And the light from the famished field ; 

A man's heart fills where the mad crowd wills. 
And the town takes over his yield. 



THE COPRID BEETLE 

THE dragon drinks at the fount or 
noon, 
The cicades sing in the tree ; 
The night moth sips at the flower-of-the- 

moon — 
But only a coprid beetle am I, 
And a coprid beetle I 'Id be. 

They plume and prate of a sun and star, 
And the work of a worm called Man; 

But the road to the realm is rough and far. 

There 's work in the dark and dirt for me — 
I '11 be what a beetle can. 

My mother a coprid beetle born — 

My sons will be no more. 
We work, nor worry — no work we scorn; 
There 's peace in the crypt of the coprid 
cave — 

What more in the Ultimate Shore? 

A Coprid they carved me in agate and gold, 

On a Pharaoh's neck I lay ; 
They put us away in a vault of old, — 
And I carry a text of the Book of the Dead 

As I roll my ball of clay ! 

St. Louis 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 30 



THE CALL OF THE WINDS 

I FAIN would laugh with all the laugh- 
ing world, 
And let the relic memories be furled 
With banners of crusades and laid away 
With tomes and trumpery of the older day ; 
With crooning history, Time's romance, be 

done — 
Let ages die, and wake the "On and on !" 

And yet in dreaming hours, despite my will, 
Past friends and fading pictures linger still. 
Old wars with all their wrongs, caesars and 

kings 
With all their crimes and ancient clamorings, 
And troubadours, and pirates of the sea — 
Seem still to mock our lauded liberty. 
Somehow, when I would tempt the tuneful 

strings 
I find them fraught with hymns of buried 

things — 
I hear the cadence of the awkward flail, 
And Indians moaning on the bison trail. 

The clanking enginery of modern strife 
Profanes the obsequies of sweeter life. 
There 's grandeur in the press of steam and 

steel, 
But heart-beats in the throb of oaken keel ! 

BLOWN by the WINDS 31 



Continued 

And on the winds a runic wail of doom 
Pursues the tattered sail and trembling boom 
Of one-time stately ships. The hulks, all 

mute, 
Swing ofFin funeral pomp; and in pursuit 
The squadron hounds of fretful Commerce 

bay 
Their greed of wealth and ruthless pride of 

prey ! 

A golden glory filled the sea and air 
When Turner saw the failing Temeraire ! 
No harmonies contest the sunset fire, 
The fondest fancies haunt the Autumn pyre; 
So, when the Muses seek the tender theme, 
They find the treasure passing toward a 
dream ! 

Nbw York 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 



LIBERTY BELL 



A 



H, here is our Liberty Bell, 

Paraded in pride of old ! 
I would that my tongue could dwell 

In the turbulent times she tolled. 



I would it were mine to reveal, 

In a reverent rage of song, 
The secrets her sibyls conceal 

And the motley and militant throng. 

Forgetful of things that be, 

I turn to the long-ago — 
To the years ere men were free 

And the world moved on but slow ; 

To the days of ruffle and wig 

And leathern-apron and hose ; 
Of flint-lock, horn and brig, 

And the spirit that went with those. 

My mind is peopled of courts 
And powder and silk and sword ; 

The hound and the falcon sports, 
And pride of lady and lord. 

I witness the hurrying groups 

To the hall of the prophet's light, 

And the red and the rags of troops 
In the dim-lit streets of night. 



BLOWN by the WINDS 33 



But thou, old Liberty Bell, 
Attuned to the patriot shout, 

Didst ring for a tyrant's knell, 
And ring till freedom was out ! 

Now loud shall Liberty sing 

Te Deums around her shrine — 

And nations bent shall bring 
Their altars unto thine! 

Philadelphia 

JAPAN THE BEAUTIFUL 

THE ghost of grace through heathen tides 
and times, 
Hath kept her vigil 'neath thy trembling 

stars ! 
Thy cherry-blossom cheeks, in peace or 
wars, 
Beam in rapport with all thy sweetest chimes! 

New states may grow where fallen states have 
been ; — 
The pulse of Beauty, dead, shall beat no 

more ! 
Thine not the cause of wall and tower and 
store ; — 
Thy citadels are laid in hearts of men ! 

Pan-American 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 34 



THE DRAGON CITY 

IN this unchanging shaft-light hour by 
hour, 
Pent in and comfortless, the city's power 
Goes grinding on around me; and the sky, 
A somber square the empty winds go by, 
Scarce marks the transit of the night or day. 
A million unfixt spirits take their way 
Beneath my keep, nor seem to reckon why 
They tempt a dragon, follow far, and die ! 

I marvel I could quit the peace of fields 
For this, where all our fervent sowing yields 
But mortal thorns to weave us penal crowns ! 
I have not learned the tenets of the towns: 
I seem disarmed where every man contends, 
Denying virtue and rejecting friends ! 

Where I have wandered, on the northern 

hills, 
A Presence full of power and promise fills 
Our hearts with common joy ; and there we 

learn 
How comradeship and simple trust will turn 
The fear of beasts and enmity of men. 
But what avails the code I gathered then ? — 
The God of farther places here they scorn, 
And flout the solemn faiths that / have 



sworn 



BLOWN by the WINDS 35 



Continued 

Were men but rude, like some unlettered 

breed, — 
Then might I stand, as one who knew the 

creed ; 
But here are sinuous ways and sultan smiles, 
Soft insolence, diplomacies and wiles. 
These subtler crafts plain men can never 

know; 
And fall as falls the unresisting snow ! 

From this most pitiless of human mills 
I wonder I am not among the hills, 
Whose faithful benediction followed me ! 
And 1 am pained of infidelity 
At parting from the pines and golden sands 
And old-time friends — the warm and rugged 

hands 
Of long-true friends ! I wonder I should 

roam 
This way! Mv heart is there — and there is 

home ! 

Chicago 



FAGOTS of CEDAR 36 




nil- GOLDEN SANDS 



THE PILGRIM 

PALE, pure Star of the North, 
I come to thee, burning of passion of 
cities ; 
To thee as to a shrine, I come ! 
Low, cool mist of the North, 
I seek thy inviolable veil — 
Within thy frail cloistering walls 
Fold me ere I fail utterly. 
A slag of man, I come, contrite ! 
Keen, calm Wind of the North, 
Blow out of the hills ! I come ! 
In thy long, cool tresses lay my fevered 

brow — 
Fevered of cities and of sin ! 
One touch of thy fingers, Wind of the North, 
And I am free — 

Free of the purple sin of the South, 
Free ot the slime of the cities; 
Free of the falser gods of crowds ! 
Stript of all falsity I come surrendering 
To thee, deep, blue Sky of the North ! 
At the fast ship's prow, Star of the North, 
In old faith, in old love, 
I come, cast down, to thee ! 

On Ship, board 



BLOWN by the WINDS 37 



AFTER the TROUBLOUS WINDS 

AFTER the troublous winds have wear- 
ied and turned to sleep, 
I lie on the the cool beach-sands, in the 
sound of the waves of the deep ; 
And the waves of the firm dead-sea, that car- 
ry the gray of the sky, 
Bear earnest of peace to me though the years 
and the worlds go by. 

The waves of the wind-reft bay, that reflect 

and rejecl as they will, 
Unvexedand unfaltering roll and the law of 

control fulfil ; — 
And this is the life that will be when our fears 

are folded away — 
For the mind is the wide-swung sea, and the 

sky of the soul is gray. 



END 



Erratum — Pg. 24, line IJ should read virgin-white. 



